


The milk was a bad idea

by TheAnderfelsOne



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Jealousy, M/M, Templar Carver Hawke, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:21:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAnderfelsOne/pseuds/TheAnderfelsOne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the tags say it all.<br/>---<br/>EDIT: Revised and edited !</p>
            </blockquote>





	The milk was a bad idea

**Author's Note:**

> The first story I ever wrote when decided to give writting a shot.
> 
> I present you one of my prime kinks. Garrett/Anders + jealous Carver...
> 
> Ps: I wanted to deliver that while I write DO. Nop I havent stopped, and yes am still writting it everyday :)

He heard Anders got a cat. 

  
Well, more like Garrett got him a cat. A little white as snow kitten the healer found by his clinic’s doors, and Garrett collected the little thing and brought it back home with him for Anders.  
  
Yes, he knows all this ‘cause he was the one picking up the foolish animal lost and shivering in a gloomy dirty corner of Darktown, putting him in front of the healer’s clinic.

Yes, because he kept wandering there even after joining the templars order and being completely outcasted from his brother’s little party.  
  
All the better. He never liked them that much anyways. They were Garrett’s friends and followed Garrett everywhere. Not him. Never him. Always went alone when Meeran needed a quick errand and couldn’t reach his brother. No, all the better, he was never shown the respect he deserved.  
  
So… why does he come around after that big scene he caused, when his big assed brother came out of the Deep Roads safe and sound and all grins, back to the house and with Anders trailing suspiciously close to him.   
  
All he knew was that he’d never forget the shocked, outraged and hurtful look on his brother’s face when he saw him in the templar armor. And when he stormed out of Gamlen’s house before his face caught on flames from Garrett's fingers already crackling with sparkling fire - coming face to face with Anders, who was standing by the doorstep - the look on the other mage’s face.   
  
The same face he secretly started to enjoy. Always frowning in concentration while washing his arm or leg with warm pleasurable healing magic.Honeyed eyes narrowing and lips unconsciously turning to a little pout whenever he didn’t like something Carver said.   
  
That day, there was neither pout nor narrowed eyes. Only a deep frown and the hardest glare he had yet to witness, but not from the usual disapproval.  
  
Disposal. Betrayal.

He did good not to speak. It all was far enough clear already. 

It was because of that look, that wouldn’t leave him in peace at night. Always seeing it between his eyelids, whenever he closed them.   
  
The guilt was something utterly disgusting, he decided.

So he started to leave his armor in the barracks and wear some old plain clothes he bought; a long sleeved colourless shirt and breeches with gap holes on the knees, along with a long hooded deep red coat that masked his body and face. He stood a bit away but so he could watch the clinic by night, and sometimes by day, sitting against the wall like a homeless refugee and watching the door, Anders coming out and, with a flick of his deft fingers, dousing the lanterns light. Always working until it was late at night, with no payment, children going in and out of his clinic, playing safely. Garrett dropping by to check on him or pick him up now and then.  
  
He was the first who found out about Anders leaving milk by the door. Waiting for some cat’s company. Carver had seen him hunched on his knees on the dirty floor, changing the spilled milk.  
  
_"Shit…"_ He turned his back on the scene and walked away. He knew there so far had been no stupid cats around Darktown, damn it. Why did he keep at it? Now he'd have to do something about it.  _Tsk_.   
  
And he had. He found a lost kitten. Barely skin on bones, Carver scooped him on his way, running the clinic’s way. He dropped him in front of the bowl… empty. Maker’s balls. Where could he found milk at this hour? He could not return to the barracks with a cat. And all the merchands and stalls were closed. 

  
The Hanged Man. But… he didn’t feel like bumping into Varric or Isabela or even worse, Garrett. But that cat might die from starvation, and with luck, he was likely the only one who was around.  
  
He headed for the Hanged man.  
  
He sprang over two or three steps of the stairs at once and arrived to the place huffing, then checked on the ball of fur in his arms. Still breathing. He slowly opened the door and gave the place a quick once over. No-one downstairs, but they must have been upstairs in Varric’s suite anyway.  
  
He headed straight toward Corff and asked for a bottle of milk and a bowl. The latter blow a critical eyebrow to the young man, but nodded at the uncommon demand, and Carver stood fingertips taping impatiently. Nervously.   
  
Finally, when Corff returned, Carver let out a big sigh. As he turned to finally get the void out of that place, he heard a loud sound coming from upstairs. The young templar casted a panicked glance, deciding it was his cue to fucking  _leave_  when he heard it. Isabela’s unmistakable cackle and a whistle following. A door slam, then he heard his brother’s deep laugh.  
  
“Shut up, Isabela.”  
  
“At least be less obvious when you two want to grope each other under the table.” Isabela shot back with a wicked slur.   

…  
  
In the background, patrons were laughing, arguing loudly and throwing drunken insults back and forth in the common Hanged Man’s ambiance, but Carver’s brain abruptly switched off of his surroundings. Why hadn’t he moved yet? He should have been halfway to Darktown already, dropped the cat in front of Anders doors and fucking left. But then he saw it.

On top of the stairs, Anders. Oh, Maker, it's been so long since he didn’t get a close look. 

  
He was talking to someone still hidden behind the wall. Obviously Garrett. But the next second, Garrett appeared, pushing himself against Anders, almost making him lose his balance if there weren’t his brother's hands on Anders’ waist and face, surprising the blond mage with a rough passionate kiss that Carver  _knew_ stole Anders’ breath. He could see it from where he stood paralyzed.   
  
It was too late, and Carver didn’t feel the need to move anymore. So why he should have hide and try to avoid them while they obviously didn’t give two shits about his existence, moving on with their life  _and_  love life as it seemed.  
  
So it was to be like that, huh… He saw it coming one day anyways.

They looked at ease… Anders’ hands gripping the back of Garrett shirt so fiercely. Pressing his body against Garrett’s chest. He wasn’t wearing his coat and he could perfectly see the lean silhouette of his hopeless crush, draped in his own fucking brother's arms.  
  
Anders… He thought that  _maybe_ no one would pay him any hard attention. He thought he was the only one who saw beneath his patched up clothes and worn out boots. Messed up blond ponytail, the warmth and passion in his amber eyes when he talked about the injustice of the world, the… the—  
  
A strangled sob.  _No…please, Carver, don’t. He was never yours. And will never be._  Garrett had once again outstripped him. Always a step ahead of him.   
  
When his brother let go of the flushed blond mage - blond locks all loose behind his ears - and dropped a tender kiss against the middle of Anders’ forehead, he had enough.

***

Outside, the Lowtown’s cold air brushed across his face, and it felt nice against his burning cheeks. He didn’t want to know if there were tears. He started to walk away quietly.

Away, once and for all.

A weak low mewl later and he remembered his intentions.   
  
"Yeah, of course. It’s all thanks to you, you stupid ball of fur."  
  
_Meow._  
  
"I got you sodding milk. So don’t start too," he hissed and the kitten looked up at Carver, who looked down at him. Yes, Garrett was always a step ahead of him, but not this time. This time  _he_  was ahead.  _He_  was the one who found Anders a cat. As stupid as it would have sounded to anyone else. He knew Anders loved and owned cats before. And he felt proud of this. And Anders will love it. He was soft and pristine-white as the Ferelden snow, with deep round blue eyes, just like his own. Maybe when Anders would see it, he would see a bit of Carver, too…

  
Oh, how absurd that sounded. Yet Anders would never know he was the one who ran Darktown and Lowtown for milk for a poor kitten. Wouldn’t know how he looked the sewers for any cat at all. Wouldn’t know how Carver glanced at him when no-one looked. Wouldn’t know so many things.  
  
When he dropped the little thing on the floor in the corner of the clinic's door, next to the bowl of warm milk, he couldn’t help but think,

“This milk was a bad idea,” and a smile cracked on his tired face, as he petted delicately the kitten’s head with his fingers. He bent to kiss it one last time.   
  
“…he’ll give you a stupid name, but at least  _you_  will be loved. Be sure of it…”

***

  
The next night, when Anders entered the bar, looking happy, with Garrett holding the door for him, a cute ball of white fur in his arms, and asked for a bowl of milk, Corff made a remark.

“Oh, isn’t that the same kitten Messere Hawke’s brother brought last night? I recognize the little head!” He said, hands already pouring milk in a deep bowl. 

Anders was taken aback. "What?" he asked, surprised.  
  
“My brother? Carver?” Hawke asked, frowning.  
  
“Yeah! He came last night with this same cat and asked for a bottle of milk! It’s been quite long since I have seen him around you, and I almost didn’t recognize him with that hooded cape over his head! But I could never forget Hawke’s junior!” Corff bragged proudly, hoping it would please the famous new rich hightowner, who still liked to hang out in his far from classy bar. 

  
But Garrett just looked dumbfounded, and Anders took a second curious glance at his new companion. He was the first to find his tongue again. “You mean Carver found this kitten yesterday?” And Hawke added: “You mean Carver was here last night?”  
  
“Uh-huh. Asked for a bottle of milk, then headed out. Um, for a second I thought he was going to head upstairs to join you. But he just turned away and stormed out.”  
  
Anders eyes widened at that, and Garrett turned to share a silent questionable look with his lover.

Later that night, Anders thought about what the barman said, while petting his little ball of joy with a new fondness.

“I think I'm going to pay Carver a visit tomorrow at the Gallows…” Garrett voiced out into the silence of their bedroom.

“Uh… Are you sure,love?” Anders asked, lifting his eyes from the sleepy kitten to look at his lover.

“Yes. It’s been a long time… I’d like to see him at least.” Hawke quietly answered, putting his head over Anders shoulder, gazing somewhere far ahead.  
"I’ll come with you…" 

"Are you sure you want to come with me there?" The dark haired mage doubted, brushing his lips against the pale soft neck, and the answer came out effortlessly.

"Yes."


End file.
